


Something Tragic, Something Magic

by earthseraph



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Dark Undertones, Familiar!Bucky, M/M, Nothing Dark Between Steve and Bucky!, Slow Burn, Witch!Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 04:09:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9303566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthseraph/pseuds/earthseraph
Summary: The world of magic isn't all fun and games- especially when you're an unbound Familiar. Bucky Barnes knows this first hand.When Bucky escapes from a HYDRA base he doesn't know where to go or who to trust. But, when a farmer finds him hiding in his crops all that changes.Now Bucky has a chance at life once more and someone willing to stand beside him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the amazing [Remi](https://needmorefiction.tumblr.com/) for being my beta and cheerleader.
> 
> Comments about what exactly happened to Bucky can be found at the end notes.
> 
> Enjoy!

**Bucky**

Snow crunches under Bucky’s paws as he runs. Trees blur past him, his body weaving between their thick trunks. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, he feel the sharp pain of breathing in cold air stabbing his lungs. Only the moon is there to guide him in his escape for freedom; the trees nothing but a maze of shadows and dark wood. The moon shines bright in the sky, casting blue across the thick forest. She’s his only hope for a successful escape, the only thing there for him in his time of need. He uses her like he’d use the north star that he can’t see- following her, hoping she’ll guide him somewhere safe. Somewhere he can stay the night before heading on his way once more. The life of a nomad, a fugitive, might be the only one left for him now. 

Remnants of the spell he was under still linger on his bones and in his mind but there’s no time for thinking or feeling, there’s only time for running. Not when they could have noticed his absence or the bloody tracker he ripped out of his forearm, wound already healed over. Not when they could have sicced all the other conditioned Familiars on him by now, commanding them to hunt him dead despite the fact that none of them were killers prior to their abduction. Not when he could be dragged back to that hell on earth. He keeps his mind- the one they trained and conditioned to withstand life’s extremes- on the now. Not drifting back to that terrible kennel, to all the pain and confusion. 

He keeps running.

The burn in his muscles, ache in his bones, and haze in his mind don’t dare stop him. The freezing balls of ice get stuck to his pelt, matting the hair there, and icy flakes he breathes in keep him moving. Thoughts of warmth and comfort keep him in action. He doesn’t know who’s going to provide either of those things but something in his heart tells him he’ll get them soon. _Soon_ he can rest, when he he’s far enough that they can’t find him even with the tracks he’s leaving in the snow. When he’s put enough distance between him and them that the layer of warmth and scent he leaves in his wake won’t help them find him. Soon he can shift into the human form he’s been restricted from using since they kidnapped him all those years ago- stretch his sore bones and joints out, look at the human features he hasn’t seen since he was twenty and carefree. As much as stopping for a breath seems very appealing, right now, he needs to keep running.

A spark of hope lights in his heart at the scent that crosses his nose. He might not be able to see the river but he can sure smell it.

The scent is thick and muddy from the damp earth surrounding the body of water, the water itself is crisp and fresh with a layer of ice over it. He slows himself to a trot when he reaches the bank. Pacing for a moment beside it as he studies the icy top layer. Bucky weighs the options of jumping across it, running beside it, or jumping in it. If he jumps across it he could keep running through the forest and hopefully get far enough that he ends up in some city. If he runs along it his tracks stay but it would take him to the same place it would if he jumped in. If he jumps in it he’s large enough to break the ice, and while the water will be freezing, he would finally be able to get rid of his tracks and can jump out when he’s far enough. He knows he’s strong enough to fight the currents that would want to pull him under, that he can pull himself up and out of the water when the time comes. 

Bucky lets out a low whine and looks over his shoulder for a moment. He can’t see or hear anyone but they’ve no doubt noticed his absence. If he was naive he’d let himself believe that they don’t care about losing a Familiar, but he’s not naive. He knows someone’s paying for his escape and while he should feel bad about that- the fact that someone’s getting hurt because of him- he doesn’t. There’s not one drop of remorse in his body for any of those rogue Witches. He’d happily rip them all to shreds, given the chance. 

Bucky shakes off his blood thirsty thoughts and turns back to the river. He takes a couple steps back, paws crunching the snow and mud, before shooting forward and jumping in. He’d rather freeze to death than go back to them. 

He breaks through the thin layer of ice easily and pushes himself to the surface as quick as he can. He’s able to keep his head above the icy water for the most part, his large body breaking the ice as he goes. He paddles as much as he can, as much as the currents let him, as to not lose his way. His muscles burn as he continues swimming, water goes up his nose and down his throat as he tries to breathe. The freezing temperature makes his bones feel brittle and the rest of his body numb, but he won’t stop. He isn’t quite sure when to jump out, what he’s looking for in this dark forest. So he just lets the stream take him. Frozen paws be damned. 

The night seems to have gotten darker when Bucky rolls out of the river. He does it with efficient motions as to not fall back into the cold water. From where he is on his back he can see the moon. He sends her a mental thank you, she’s done her job as clouds slowly pass over her. He’s soaking wet, has ice clumps in his pelt, and is drowsy with the dregs of the spell still cast over him. He’s not sure where he is anymore but this part of the forest doesn’t feel the same. Instead of feeling absent of power and craft it feels safe and homey. He’s not sure if it’s the fatigue that’s making him feel these things but he knows he doesn’t want to run anymore.

Bucky trots around the land. Noting the man made wind chimes ringing in the branches of the trees and the stretch of space that’s clear of trees and instead has rows of crops. He sniffs at the closest crop to him-green onions- and keeps walking. There’s not a house in sight, not even a tool shed. The only thing he sees with the clouded light of the moon and his keen eyes are crops, flowers, and trees. It doesn’t look or feel like the forest he was just running through, nor does it make his senses spark up with the possibility of danger. 

He walks around the area for a couple of moments. Scoping out exits and hiding spots in case he needs to run again, before finding some place to rest. In his Familiar form he’s a massive dog- a Caucasian Mountain dog, he’s been told- so finding some place to tuck away and sleep is something of a mission. Thankfully, whatever Witch lives here either has the greenest thumb on earth or enchanted corn to grow in the dead of winter. He slowly weaves himself between the rows, careful not to break any stalks, and settles in.

Curled into a ball, Bucky closes his eyes. The air’s freezing against his icy pelt, but with all the corn around him he’s able to slightly warm his body He decides to sleep until daylight before getting up and moving again. He needs to find a city, steal some clothes, and try to find work. He needs to make enough money to live, but at the same time stay under the radar. Lest someone find out he’s an unbonded familiar, lest HYDRA find him once more and try to take him back.

With this in mind, Bucky lets out a huff of breath and falls into a deep sleep. He has hope he’s going to wake up tomorrow morning, but with the freezing weather and his icy state his chances are slim.

He doesn’t dream that night.

* * *

**Steve**

There’s a fresh layer of snow covering the ground and dusting his crops when Steve steps outside. He shivers as a gust of wind blows his way, and shoves his arms into a thick coat, his final layer of clothing against the cold. In reality he could enchant his coat to keep him at a toasty, comfortable temperature while he tends to his crops but he doesn’t feel like wasting energy on that. Better to face the natural elements than get a migraine later because he used a little too much of his magic.

Steve closes the door to his house as he steps out onto the porch, the knob so cold he can feel it through his gloves. Snow crunches under his boots, the wood of the porch creaking where he needs to fix a loose panel, as he moves around to ready his things before going out in the garden. He hasn’t been out here long but the cold’s already biting at his nose and tops of his cheeks, making him wish he had a balaclava to protect the parts of his face not covered by beard. He shakes his head at the immediate chill and gets to work. 

With gloved hands, Steve slings his bag of tools over his shoulder, the weight of them thumping him on the back. Bag secure, he grabs the handles of his wheelbarrow and rolls it down the porch steps, the wheel jerking down each step. He makes a mental reminder to shovel the snow off his porch and salt it later, because the last thing he wants is to slip and bust his head on the slippery steps. 

The first batch of crops he checks are the boxes of greens. Romaine lettuce, kale, spinach, and mustard all in neat rows. Their leaves are dusted over with snow, some of them barely sprouting but others ready to harvest. The leaves are bright and beautiful even in this weather thanks to his magic, and he can’t help but smile at them.

Steve kneels down in front of the lettuce, the cold of the icy snow seeping through his jeans. He pulls the bag of tools off his shoulder and grabs a pair of garden sheers. The lettuce is fully grown, leaves large and wide. He continues smiling at the plant, touching the green leaves for a moment before placing his sheers under the plant, just above the dirt, and cutting. It takes a couple of tries with the sheers, but eventually the lettuce is free. Steve sets the shears aside and picks up the head of lettuce, shaking off the snow. He looks it over- making sure no bugs got past his spell, they didn’t- before gently placing it in the wheelbarrow. 

He leans back on his haunches, hands on his hips, and looks at the rest of the crops he needs to harvest. From where he is he can already tell that the mustard and kale aren’t ready, and he’s slightly grateful. He definitely needs to attack the corn, herb garden, and the other three boxes with miscellaneous crops in them. It’s a bit of a struggle- it only being him without a Familiar or farm hand- but he makes it work. It’s rewarding in the end, too, watching all his plants and crops grow from seeds to what they are now. The love people give him when he shows up to the farmer’s market makes it all worth it, too. They love eating what he has to sell, taking his remedies, and- he likes to think- enjoy his company at the market. 

Steve nods to himself with a puff of air. Time to get to the rest of the lettuce and spinach.

* * *

The sun’s peeking out between the trees by the time Steve gets to the corn. His wheelbarrow now empty, the lettuce and spinach sitting inside a large sink to be washed later, is parked beside him waiting to be filled. The corn stalks are tall and a healthy green, the corn itself visible with snow like powdered sugar on their ears. 

He claps his hands together, a small gesture of motivation for himself, before moving to harvest the corn. The corn takes a little work seeing as the stalks are slightly frozen, but after a couple of failed tries he gets into the motion and continues on. The barrow slowly fills with corn as he finishes the outermost stalks, his arms burning at the effort he’s putting into gathering the crop. 

Steve grins to himself as he breaks off an ear and turns back to the barrow, only just seeing the barrow through the stalks, and throws it in like he’d throw a football. He’s too busy throwing corn in the barrow- and making the shot- that he doesn’t realize the large, fluffy mass behind him until he trips over it and falls back. 

A, frankly embarrassing, ‘oof’ emits from Steve’s mouth when he hits the ground. His legs are still on the sleeping creature but he’s quick to pull them off, scooting away until he hits another stalk. His butt’s soaking over with wet snow as he stares at the thing. It looks like a massive dog. It’s huge, a bit smaller than him, but it’s still a massive creature. The animal's fur is black, almost pitch black which is probably why Steve didn’t notice the creature earlier seeing as the sun is barely rising. 

In all honesty Steve isn’t sure what to do. The dog’s probably freezing from sleeping out in the cold, but it could be a wild animal for all Steve knows. He doesn’t want to move it, in fear of the animal going at him, but he knows he just can’t leave the dog here. The snow’s bound to get worse later, this is upstate New York after all, and it can’t just stay sleeping in his crops.

Steve moves his legs away from the animal and rises up on his knees. “Hey,” he says gently. The dog doesn’t respond, just keeps sleeping. “Hey,” he says once more, this time much louder, his voice cracking from disuse. 

The dog startles awake, scrambling up into a defensive position, it’s teeth bared. 

Steve raises his hands up, still unsure what to do, and says: “Hey, I don’t mean any harm.” He’d make a joke about being a simple farmer but he doesn’t think this is the time. He also knows the dog probably can’t understand him and just sees a large threat in front of him.

The dog stays alert, hair rising on their hackles. Their lips are pulled back to show their large teeth, teeth that could easily rip Steve to shreds. The dog snarls at Steve, spit flinging from between it’s teeth.

It’s in that moment that Steve notices it’s eyes. See, Familiars don’t have normal eyes. They have _human_ eyes, and this dog has soft grey eyes. So much more human than Steve has ever seen on a Familiar. He hasn’t encountered many Familiars in life that look this human, then again he hasn’t encountered many Familiars period. 

“Did someone hurt you?” Steve asks. No Familiar should be out in the cold in their animal state. No Familiar should look as distrusting as this one does. No familiar should be in this much fear at the sight of another Witch.

The dog covers it’s teeth with it’s lips but stays alert. The creature doesn’t move an inch. It holds it’s ground and holds it well seeing as the rational part of Steve’s brain wants him to jinx the creature and run away.

“Do you want to come in where it’s warm?” Crop picking and rational thinking be damned, “I promise I won’t hurt you. You can stay in that form or get clothes from me and shift in the bathroom.”

The creature doesn’t move.

Steve searches his mind for a way to prove to this Familiar that he’s one of the good Witches before snapping, “Oh, look.” He pulls off a glove and holds out his hand, palm up, between himself and the dog. In the palm of his hand swirls of golden magic emit, twirling around the air. Tendrils of it seep out from his palm, the magic touching the corn stalks and spark in front of the dog before Steve pulls them back. 

Witches of pure intent, who’ve never done wrong with their abilities, have golden magic. Witches of malintent, who’ve done wrong with their abilities, have magic smoked over with black. The pure gold gets taken over with smoke at each offence they commit. Some of the worst witches have magic so black it looks like a moonless night. Steve prides himself at the purity of his magic. Not because he thinks he’s better than anyone, but because he’s the only Witch of his age that he knows with magic that pure. 

The dog looks from Steve’s hand to Steve before relaxing. It nods once to Steve before making it’s way out of the corn, careful not to break any stalks.

Steve lets out a sigh of relief and takes a moment to breathe before getting up and following the Familiar. He puts his glove back on, taking the handles of the wheelbarrow when they exit the stalks. He’s thankful that the Familiar didn’t decide to just snap his neck before hearing him out, and that they were careful enough to not hurt the corn. Growing corn in the dead of winter isn’t the easiest, even with his magic.

“Follow me,” Steve tells the Familiar, pushing the barrow back to the porch. He walks up the steps backwards, pulling the half full barrow with him. Steve waits for the Familiar to follow him up the steps before opening the door to the mud room and nodding him in. He leaves the corn outside to be dealt with later and closes the door behind them.

“Do you want to stay in this form?” Steve asks the Familiar, “Nod once for yes and twice for no.”

The Familiar hesitates, thinking about it. The Familiar’s large size takes up most of the mud room, but despite that there’s still an aura of fear rolling off him. The Familiar, seeming to have decided, nods their head twice. 

Steve holds up a gloved finger, “Let me go get you some clothes.”

The Familiar nods and sits down, trying to make himself small. He looks around the mud room, curious.

Steve toes his boots off quickly and tosses his gloves on top of them. He exits the mud room and quickly walks through his small house, pulling off layers until he’s down to his thermal top and damp jeans. He doesn’t know how large or small the Familiar’s going to be in it’s human form. He doesn’t even know if it’s going to be a man or woman, for that matter. After having a quick panic session over clothes, Steve settles on a large knit sweater- covers all sizes and any boob problem- and a pair of sweats with a drawstring. He adds fuzzy socks and a pair of briefs to the stack. He hopes the Familiar will be comfortable in these clothes, not wanting to cause them more discomfort. With the thought of the cold Familiar waiting for him, he hurries back to the mud room.

He pushes the door open after knocking on it and holds the clothes up to the dog, “If you want to shower before putting these on there’s a small one right there-” he points to the door holding the shower he uses if he’s spectacularly muddy after picking crops, “-I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re done. I can imagine you’re hungry.” 

The dog nods in reply. Grey eyes looking up at his.

Steve sets the clothes on the dryer and nods awkwardly, “Have at it.” He exits the room quickly, making sure the door closes gently instead of swinging before heading to the kitchen.

What did he just get himself into?

* * *

**Bucky**

Bucky waits until the door’s completely closed before attempting to shift back into his human form. It’s been years since he’s done this and he’s worried he doesn’t remember how. Fear sparks in his stomach at the thought of the shift hurting him but he needs to get over it. He can’t stay in his animal form forever, not when he needs to make a new life for himself. 

He takes a deep breath before closing his eyes and focusing on the shift. It doesn’t hurt like he thought it would, but it takes his breath away like a punch to the stomach. He stumbles when he’s shifted, not used to being on only two feet. His entire body feels prickly and numb, like when your foot falls asleep and you step on it, but much more intense. He takes in a couple more deep breaths, looking up to the ceiling, hoping that the numb feeling will wash away soon. He looks down at himself for a moment. His legs are longer and more muscular than when he last saw them, there’s a scar on his left arm where he pulled out his tracker, and he’s completely filthy. Bucky’s curious to see his face but there should be a mirror in the bathroom, he can wait. 

With another breath, Bucky moves. He’s a little jerky and uncoordinated on two legs, but he makes due. He takes the clothes off the dryer, the knit sweater soft against his dirty fingers, and slowly makes his way to the bathroom. Bucky gently closes the door behind him and lets out a sigh, appreciating the privacy of a small room. He ignores the mirror above the sink for setting the clothes down on the counter and turning on the shower, as hot as it can go. His baths with HYDRA consisted of him and the other captured Familiars standing in a line and a member spraying them down with the hose. It wasn’t pleasant nor did it clean him well.

He steps in the shower, not caring for the temperature, and relaxes immediately. He closes his eyes, letting the water hit his face and wash away all the grime from his body. Sure, he needs to scrub his body but for now the hot water feels great.

Eventually, he gets to cleaning his body. There’s a bar of soap in a dish on the side of the tub and while he should consider the germs that this man might have, he could not give less of a damn. Scrubbing the layers of dirt off his body feels like a blessing. Slowly he starts to feel cleaner, to feel less like the animal HYDRA tried to make him into and more like the human he is. He continues scrubbing his body with the bar of soap, the motions soothing both him and his mind.

He doesn’t know if he’s capable of trusting this man, or what the man’s intentions are. The man seems nice enough and proved that he was a good person by showing Bucky the purity of his magic, but Bucky doesn’t want to put him in harm’s way. He doesn’t want HYDRA finding either of them, especially a strong Witch like this man. So, he decides in that moment, he’ll shower and thank the man before parting on his way. He’ll ask where the nearest city is and make sure he literally covers his tracks so nobody messes with this man. He doesn’t want anyone else getting hurt for him, not any more.

Bucky nods to himself with his plan and trades the bar of soap for the bottle of shampoo. He squirts some of the gel into his hand and sets the bottle back. When he runs his hands through his hair he’s surprised. Instead of the short cut he had all those years ago, his hair’s long. He shouldn’t be surprised at the length, of course his hair was going to grow but still it’s not something he was expecting. From what he can feel with his fingers his hair is down to his shoulders, and wonders what else drastically changed about him.

He quickly finishes his shower and dries himself off with a towel he found hanging from a hook. The clothes go on easy, the sweats are a little small in the hips but everything else fits fine. Bucky’s a little hesitant to look at himself in the mirror. He has a blurry memory of what he used to look like, but that was years ago. He doesn’t know how much being a captive for a corrupt militant group could change him, and he’s kind of afraid to see the answer. 

Taking a deep breath in Bucky steps in front of the mirror. The mirror is fogged over with steam from the hot shower he took, so uses his hand and wipes away the fog. He doesn’t know what he was expecting. Maybe a change so drastic he wouldn’t recognize the person in the mirror, but it’s not that. His face is a little thinner, sure, but not so much where he can see his bones. There’s purple bruises under his eyes where he hasn’t had a proper sleep in months. His lips are chapped and there’s a thick layer of stubble around his jaw, but that’s it. He looks like the same Bucky from years ago, but one that spent some time in the woods without Chapstick or a razor.

Bucky lets out a sigh of relief and grips the sink. He’s still Bucky, he’s not their attack dog, he’ll be okay.

(He hopes.)

* * *

**Steve**

Steve doesn’t know what to do in this situation. He’s not sure what this Familiar’s backstory is, whether the Familiar’s going to be okay, or even what to make the Familiar to eat for breakfast. He has the resources and abilities to make almost any American staple, but he knows what can happen to Familiars out there, so he knows this Familiar’s stomach might not be able to handle real, _human_ , food.

He doesn’t want to project his past onto the current situation he’s in, but he after years of being a detective he knows when something’s up. Nobody- Witch or Familiar- should be out in the cold, with only their body heat and corn stalks to protect them from the elements. The only people that would be doing that are either fugitives or criminals, and while he’d like to believe this Familiar is the latter, he doesn’t. That Familiar doesn’t look like a criminal but if he’s a fugitive that means something happened to him that he had to run from. Bad Witches aren’t unheard of, and sometimes Familiars are at the wrong place at the wrong time. Hopefully, that wasn’t the case with this Familiar.

Steve turns around from where he is at the sink when he hears the floorboards creak behind him. The Familiar, it turns out, is a man around his age. He’s tall with shoulder length hair and a jaw full of stubble. His cheeks are bony, probably from a lack of a nutritious meal, and his eyes have bruises under them like he hasn’t had a good sleep in a long time. The clothes Steve gave him fit him fine, but the man himself looks a little spooked.

Steve clears his throat, trying to channel the voice he used on victims all those years ago, “Hey, you hungry?”

The man meets his eyes and studies him for a moment before nodding.

Steve motions to the small table beside the counter, “Take a seat.”

The man’s movement are wobbly and uncertain, like it’s been a long time since he’s been on two feet and it’s like a punch to Steve’s gut. He’s seen this sort of behavior before. 

Steve tries to act as natural as he can, so he turns around and leans a hip against the counter. He makes sure his stance his open and inviting, knowing full and well that his large stature can intimidate some, “What’re you hungry for?”

The man clears his throat like Steve did before, “Gotta’ admit I haven’t eaten much of this kinda food in a while.” His voice is scratchy, like it’s the first time he’s spoken in a long time. The man shrugs, giving Steve a half smile, “Don’t know what would settle properly in my stomach.”

Steve nods, “That’s okay.” The man never said what he was eating that wasn’t human food, but Steve can fill in the blanks. What else do you feed a Familiar whose other form is a dog? He turns around and opens the cabinet to his right. It takes him a moment to find them, but he eventually pulls out bags of rice and beans. He turns back around and holds the bags up, “I think these should settle fine, that okay with you?”

The man flicks his eyes between the bags before nodding, “Yeah. To be honest, anything sounds good right now.”

“Shouldn’t take too long,” Steve tells him, “if you want some crackers and water to eat while waiting I could give you some?” He’s not sure if the man knows what he’s doing. Whether the man knows that he’s giving him things that shouldn’t upset his stomach, because he’s experienced in this sort of thing. He doesn’t want the man to think he’s coddling him, because that’s the last thing he’s doing. Victims of this sort of thing are the strongest people he knows and he wouldn’t discredit that for a second.

The man nods again, “Sure, thanks.”

Steve sets the beans and rice down on the counter, going back into the cabinet for a box of saltines. He sets the box on the table, close enough for the man to take, and grabs a bottle of water. He does the same with the water, but lingers by the table for a moment.

“Do you have a name?” He asks casually.

The man pulls the opened packet of crackers out of the box and takes one from it. He traces the edges with his fingers, “Bucky.”

“Bucky?” It’s not exactly a common name.

“Yeah, it’s a nickname,” Bucky replies, saying nothing more. He pops the saltine in his mouth and chews, staring down at the table, conversation over.

“Ah,” Steve nods, a bit awkward, “mine’s Steve.”

Bucky gives him a small smile in reply and eats another cracker.

Steve turns his back to Bucky and gets to making them breakfast. He wants to ask Bucky more about where he’s been, but he doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable. This isn’t an interrogation room and there isn’t an investigation. This man has no obligation to tell him anything, but if it could help other Familiars then it’s _Steve’s_ obligation to know. 

At least it used to be.

He’ll try to get something out of him after breakfast, Steve decides. If it gets too uncomfortable for Bucky he’ll stop asking and offer him either his couch or to drop him off somewhere. He’s not going to make this man tell him any of his past, not if it could hurt him in the process. He’s also not going to force Bucky to stay here. Sure, it’ll be safer for him, but that’s not Steve’s decision. Who knows if the man even trusts him, seeing as it was other Witches that hurt this man. If Bucky does decide to stay here, then they’ll cross that bridge when they get to it.

All Steve knows right now is there’s a hungry man that probably went through hell sitting at his table, and if his mom taught him anything it’s that a full stomach can make anyone’s day a little bit brighter. He hopes he can do that for Bucky.

* * *

**Bucky**

Bucky’s trying to act as normal as he can, as he used to be, but he’s not sure if he’s executing it. He doesn’t know if Steve’s aware of the eyes he constantly has on him, or if he notices the way Bucky’s keeping his distance. He wishes he could act like nothing ever happened to him, that he could go back to the person he was all those years ago, but he can’t do either of those things. He was kidnapped, used as someone’s power source for years, and that’s the person he’ll always be now.

Steve seems pretty trustworthy, but he also seems like he’s dealt with something like this before. Bucky would have never thought before eating human food, he would have just done it. Then regretted it, because his stomach is used to kibble not eggs and bacon. Starting off with saltines, beans, and rice isn’t something he’d have done at the first go of eating. Maybe he’s thinking on it too much, maybe he’s just paranoid, but someone shouldn’t be this knowledgeable about what to feed a recently found Familiar. Not right off the bat, at least.

He should also probably figure out some plan to leave. He could stay for a night or so if Steve were to offer the couch, but no longer than that. He doesn’t want to create any problems for Steve with HYDRA. Steve’s just a farmer, he doesn’t need to deal with of this shit. Hell, he doesn’t need to deal with Bucky, but here he is. 

A nice farmer, with the purest magic he’s ever seen, is making him beans and rice. Making him, a stranger, breakfast that should settle fine in his stomach. This sort of person shouldn’t have to deal with Bucky _or_ HYDRA.

Bucky blinks when Steve turns around from the stove with a plate. 

He smiles at Bucky, raising the plate in motion to it, “It’s hot.” Steve takes careful steps to the table, obviously so Bucky can see every movement, and sets the plate on the table, “Let me get you a fork.”

Bucky looks down at the plate and frowns, “Shouldn’t beans take longer?” He remembers beans taking longer to cook if they weren’t from the can, but it has been years since he’s cooked for himself.

Steve blushes, a nice pink flush across his cheeks, “I used a little magic to speed up the process.”

“Oh,” Bucky says, he’s not very fond with magic at this point, “thank you.”

“Was that not okay?” Steve asks, genuine concern in his voice, handing him the fork.

Bucky takes the fork, sticking the prongs into the pile of fluffy white rice, “Magic and I..” he trails off, remembering all the times he was used as a power sources, all the times he was jinxed into killing someone, all the times spells were cast upon him so he couldn’t even thinking about what he was doing. He clears his throat, “Magic and I don’t have a good past.”

The air seems to tense and Steve looks like he wants to say something. Instead of waiting for Steve to reply, Bucky takes a scoop of rice and pops it into his mouth. The rice is hot and fluffy. He can taste the salt used, and while it’s one of the simplest foods someone could cook it tastes amazing. He honestly can’t remember the last hot meal he had, but whatever it was can’t be better than this. Despite all the shit and hell he’s been through, the fact that he’s absolutely not okay, this plate of rice and beans grounds him.

“Woah, don’t eat that too fast,” Steve says, a slight chuckle in his voice, “you’re going to burn your mouth and hurt your stomach.”

Bucky looks up from his plate, mouth full of food. He chews the rice and beans slower, savoring the flavors, and swallows. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, “Sorry.” 

He’s a little embarrassed that he ate quick enough for Steve to notice, but on the other hand he hasn’t had a hot meal in literal years. That’s an excuse enough as to why he ate like he was raised by wolves (ha).

“No, it’s okay.” Steve shakes his head, taking the seat diagonal from Bucky with his own plate of food.

Bucky watches him for a moment, still unsure. He doesn’t think Steve is like any of those other Witches, but he can’t be sure. Not yet at least.

They eat in silence. Bucky makes sure to chew his food at a normal rate, not wanting to choke or barf.

Eventually they both finish with their meals. Bucky sets his fork down on the plate, the prongs scraping against the plastic, and looks over at Steve. 

Steve clears his throat, staring down at his own empty plate, “So, uh, what happened to you?”

Bucky knew Steve was going to ask that. It’s not everyday someone finds a Familiar in their backyard with their crops. He takes in a deep breath, memories of everything he went through flashing through his mind, “I was kidnapped.” It’s simple, there, he said it. Someone should be proud of him.

“Kidnapped,” Steve repeats, a dip forming between his brows, “by who? How long ago?”

“They called themselves ‘HYDRA’,” Bucky shudders a little, remembering the torturous hell he went through while in their grasp. He remembers the small cage they stuffed his massive Familiar form in, the sound of all the other doped up Familiar’s growling at the new scent of him. 

“I want to say it was three years ago but,” he frowns, looking down at the table, “it’s all a blur. I was so doped up on magic and drugs that some days were more vivid than others.” He doesn’t remember everyone he’s killed or every bad deed he did under their control. There’s gaps in his memory, whether it be out of trauma because his brian’s protecting himself or the drugs, it doesn’t matter. The fact that he can’t remember is both a blessing and a curse.

Steve’s silent for long enough that Bucky pulls his eyes away from the wooden table to look at him, “Steve?” He hopes he didn’t stun him with a vision of what he went through, but he’s not going to be ashamed of his past either.

Steve licks his lips, a look on concentration on his face, “Do you remember the path you took from their base to get here?”

The question surprises Bucky. He thought Steve would ask a coddling ‘are you okay’ type of question, not if he remembers his way back, “Yeah, I do, why?”

“I used to be a detective on cases like this,” Steve says honestly, “and while I’m not on active duty I have friends that are. If you come forward we could--”

Bucky cuts Steve off, “No.” He doesn’t want his face blasted everywhere, he doesn’t want to be hounded (ha) with lawyers and reporters. All he wants is to move past this a live as normal a life he can.

“Okay, no report.” Steve frowns, “Anonymous tip?”

Bucky considers it. If he puts in a tip he could save a lot of lives, he could prevent HYDRA from hurting more Witches and Familiars alike, and it’s not like anyone would know who put the tip in. If he doesn’t put a tip in that little fact will weigh down on his conscious no matter where he sets up a new life.

“Will they pay attention to it?” He doesn’t want to do this and nothing come from it.

Steve nods, “I know who to send it to.”

Bucky studies Steve’s face for a moment. He looks serious about this, like he’s ready to take down a corrupt organization from his kitchen, and Bucky trusts him. He’s not sure if the trust comes from the purity in Steve’s magic, or the fact that Steve’s the first person he’s encountered since being a caged animal, but he trusts him.

“Okay,” Bucky nods, “let’s do it.”

* * *

After they call in the tip to one of Steve’s well known friends Bucky’s heart continues to pound in his chest. The gravity of what he just did, of how many people he can help, only just hit him. If Steve’s friend listens to the voice mail Bucky left HYDRA could be taken out within days; Bucky can be free. 

“I think you should stay here until HYDRA’s been eliminated,” Steve tells him quietly, “but I won’t hold you against your will.”

Bucky looks up at Steve. He’s sitting on the arm of the couch next to Bucky, his arms crossed over his chest and that frown that Bucky’s become so accustomed to on his lips. He doesn’t know Steve that well, but he trusts him. If Steve wasn’t a good person he wouldn’t have given him the ability to put the fuckers who hurt him, and many others, in jail or six feet under. 

“Only until HYDRA’s gone,” Bucky agrees, he needs to create his own life. Even if he likes it here he can’t stay here, not when there’s so much of the world he’s missed. It wouldn’t be healthy to stay here, no matter how much leaving could possibly hurt. While he’d like to leave right this moment, as to not get Steve hurt, it seems like Steve has enough knowledge about this sort of thing to protect the both of them. He doesn’t want that, but staying here is only rational.

Steve nods once in agreeance, “You can either laze around and heal up before you leave or help me in the garden, your choice.”

“I’ll help out, don’t want to bum around and eat all your food.” He also doesn’t want to sit and wallow in his own self pity, but Steve doesn’t need to know that part.

“I have some corn to finish picking if you’re up to it?” The frown on his face is now a small smile, and it’s one Bucky could get used to.

“Let’s go pick some corn.”

* * *

The next couple of days pass normally. They create a pattern of waking before the sun rises to farm Steve’s crops, 

( _“You’re not going to hurt the corn, Buck.” Steve tells him with a sigh for about the billionth time._

_Bucky skeptically looks at the corn. The stalks are taller than him and the ears are a beautiful green, he just doesn’t want to do any unnecessary harm to the plant. What if he pulls to hard and Steve can’t get an ear from this stalk anymore? What if he kills the plant? He’s not what someone would call a plant expert, he doesn’t know how much strength is too much for the corn._

_“Are you sure?”_

_Steve nods to him, the knit hat covering his ears bobbing where it’s slightly too big on him, “Positive.”_

_With a deep sigh Bucky wraps his hand around the ear of the corn and with a slight twist of his wrist, pulls it off. He looks from the large ear in his hand back to the plant, checking it over to see if he hurt the poor thing. Not like he would know if he hurt the plant, seeing as this is the first time he’s encountered actual corn stalks, but the lack of plant secretion puts his mind at ease._

_“See,” Steve grins, “didn’t hurt it.”_

_“Oh, yeah, guess I didn’t.” He doesn’t tell Steve that his main reason for concern comes from the fact that all he did for the past three or so years was hurt people. He doesn’t mention that it feels like all his hands and body are capable of doing is harm to living things. He just keeps his eyes on the corn that he picked, and thinks about the fact that he hasn’t hurt both the corn or Steve._ ) 

,of sitting down to eat their meals together 

( _“Why don’t I cook today?”_

_Steve looks up from where he’s washing off the corn they picked today with a raise eyebrow, “Is that possible?”_

_Bucky snorts and crosses his arms over his chest, slightly defensive, “I think I can remember how to cook breakfast, pal.”_

_The eyebrow stays raised, “Can your stomach handle real food?”_

_Bucky shrugs a shoulder, “I see why not.” It’s been close to two weeks since he’s been staying with Steve, since he escaped from HYDRA. Not every day has been this laid back and relaxed, sometimes he’s too tired from the nightmares that kept him away at night, other times he has panic attacks that won’t let him rest easy during the day. Luckily for him, today’s a good day._

_Steve eyes him for a moment before shutting off the sink, placing the carrots he was washing into bowl. “Okay, let’s see what you can do.”_

_For a moment looking at all the food is slightly overwhelming. It makes sense that because Steve’s both a farmer and a big man that he would an abundance of perishables and non-perishables likes, but does he really need this much?_

_Bucky takes in a deep breath and decides to make a simple breakfast of pancakes, bacon, and eggs. He remembers how to make the cakes from scratch and goes that route, not knowing if Steve even has the instant version in his pantry or if that’s taboo in his eyes._

_He works on making breakfast quietly, eyeballing each measurement because he has too much pride to ask Steve for help. Steve wonders around the kitchen behind him, making their morning coffee, occasionally looking over his shoulder to see what he’s doing before Bucky elbows him in the stomach._

_Eventually breakfast is made. The pancakes are more brown than golden, the eggs came less over medium and more hard boiled, and the bacon is crispy enough that one wrong look could make it fall apart. It’s perfect in Bucky’s eyes_ )

, and doing whatever they want in the spare hours in between. 

( _At first Bucky didn’t want to look at all the events he’s missed. He stayed away from the TV, ignored Steve’s laptop, and would even avoid the newspaper Steve got delivered to his house. Then he got a small taste of it while he was washing dishes and Steve put the news on as background noise for whatever he was doing, and now he can’t get enough._

_While Steve’s home Bucky will take Steve’s laptop, curl up in the wingback he’s claimed as his own, and either look through news pages or search specific things. He’s looked up the adoption agency he was in and out of until he was eighteen, making sure it’s still standing. He’s poured through articles over Familiar health care laws, hoping that while he was captured something changed for the better. He’s even checked up on global warming, just to see whether people are still being idiots about the whole thing._

_He’s addicted to news stations and all they have to offer, flipping between two cable stations and one regular. Not all stories pertain to his interest, but he watches them anyway only to gain knowledge off of then. Even Steve gets used to watching news throughout the day. He doesn’t complain or change the channel, just sits and watches with Bucky or brings something along with him._

_Bucky considers going into journalism when he’s able to get back into the world. He does have a degree and while he won’t become anything like Anderson Cooper, even being a small time journalist would be enjoyable. The idea seems a little silly, and he doesn’t tell Steve, but it’s like the light at the end of a tunnel for him. It’s something that keeps him going even when he would rather stop._ ) 

It’s a quiet Wednesday when it happens.

Bucky’s sitting on the couch watching cable news with Steve beside him doing something or the other in his journal. Bucky’s not exactly paying attention to what’s going on, because he’s too caught up in Trish Walker’s accent and her blue eyes, but when _BREAKING NEWS_ flashes across the bottom of the screen his attention snaps.

“This just in,” Trish says, her voice urgent, “authorities report that they have successfully infiltrated HYDRA’s main base.”

Bucky feels his heart start to race, stomach dropping.

“If you don’t know, HYDRA is a terrorist organization infamously known for kidnapping unbound Familiars. The authorities have had a hard time tracing back to them, but our sources tell us that an anonymous tip was left by an escaped Familiar that led them back to their base.”

“Steve,” Bucky says, voice barely there.

“From what we know as many as a hundred Familiars have been rescued, HYDRA agents are being detained and interrogated, and the authorities are on their way take down the last remaining HYDRA bases. Stay tuned for more.”

“Steve, it’s over.” Bucky looks over at Steve, stunned, and Steve mirrors the look.

“They got them,” Steve says, sounding breathless, “they actually got them.”

“I’m free.” He can leave. He can put this all behind him and go live his life like he’s supposed to. He’s not bound by the fear that HYDRA can come for him or harm him in any way. He’s not healed, no, but the burden of HYDRA just being out there is lifted from his chest and he can breathe now. He’s free.

Steve nod slowly, “That you are.”

“I can live my life.”

Steve turns to look at him, a small smile on his face, “You can.”

Bucky wants to cry, but he holds it in. Instead he inhales deeply and exhales slowly, calming his racing heart, letting the air he hasn’t been able to metaphorically breathe full his lungs until it burns and he has to release it. 

He’s free.

* * *

“You’re sure you don’t want to stay?” Steve asks, “I could always use a hand with the crops.” 

They’re sitting in the cab of Steve’s truck. The heater’s running on high, the truck itself humming from the cold. Bucky pulls at the sleeve of the coat Steve gave him and chews his lip. The offer is tempting. Steve’s house is warm and safe, Steve himself is nice and trustworthy, but staying there would mean not exploring all he’s missed the last few years. He needs to find himself in this new world. He needs to find a job on his own, mess up a little, meet new people. It’s not that Steve won’t let him do those things, but that he would be so caught up in everything Steve is that he wouldn’t let himself.

“I need to go,” Bucky tells Steve, looking him in the eyes, “I need to do it for me.”

Steve studies him for a moment. He looks like he wants to protest but doesn’t, “Okay.” He nods, “Got everything you need?”

Bucky raises the care bag Steve packed for him and sighs, nerves are churning in his stomach, “Yeah, thank you for everything.”

“You have my number,” Steve says, voice slightly choked, “call or text me when you can.”

The piece of paper with Steve’s number is safely tucked into the pockets of his borrowed pants, “As soon as I get a phone I will.”

Steve gives him a small smile, it’s watery, “Take care of yourself out there.”

Bucky nods, “I will.”

They hold each other’s gaze, and it feels like something should happen but nothing does. Bucky brakes his eyes away and nods again. He pushes the truck door open, the cold weather biting at his skin, and looks back at Steve. He raises a hand in a mock salute, knowing if he says anything else to Steve he’ll just end up staying, and closes the truck door. 

In front of him are the steps to Grand Central Station. He can go anywhere from here, thanks to Steve he has enough funds to be comfortable for months if necessary. Bucky turns around to see Steve’s red pickup driving away and sighs, his breath visible.

It’s time to start his life.

* * *

**Steve, a year later. . .**

It’s a nice summer day in June. The sun is partially hidden behind a cloud, the sky is blue, and there’s a slight breeze in the air.

Steve smiles and waves goodbye as the customer leaves his booth, before wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. While it is a pretty day, it’s hot as hell. There’s sweat running down every part of his body, stains marking his shirt, he’s kind of a mess. He deals with it, though. Being at the farmer’s market on a day like this means he’s going to make good profit. He’s already sold most of his watermelons and the cups of fruit he prepared for people to buy and walk around with. He knows he’ll only be leaving with a box or so of produce, so sweat be damned. 

He’s too busy tallying what he needs to bring more and less of next time that he doesn’t realize when someone steps in his booth.

“Hey farmer,” the person says, “need help _germinating_ your seeds?”

Steve’s head snaps up at the terrible, but hilarious, pick up line and almost chokes on his spit, “Bucky!”

The man in question looks great. His hair shorter than before, cut closer to the sides than the top. He doesn’t have bruises under his eyes or sunken cheeks where he’s able to actually eat and get a good night’s sleep, and the smile on his face looks wide and genuine.

“Steve,” Bucky grins, “long time no see.”

Instead of standing behind his table awkwardly, he rounds it and stands in front of Bucky, pulling him into a hug. “Got a little concerned when you didn’t reply the other night,” Steve says into the hug.

Bucky hugs him back, large and warm, “Decided I didn’t want to talk over the phone anymore and instead wanted to see you in person.” Bucky pulls back from the hug, “You look great, Steve.”

They’ve been in contact ever since Bucky left. Whether it be text, call, or video chat their conversations kept up with the same chemistry. At first it was purely to make sure Bucky was okay going into his new life, then it became conversations between friends, and then something more neither of them put a label on.

“Buck, you’re the one that looks amazing!” He doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. He hasn’t seen the man in about a year, and being able to hold him is something that he only dreamed of doing.

The grin stays on Bucky’s face, “Yeah?”

Steve snorts, “Fishin’ for compliments?”

“Nah, just the knowledge of whether or not you're free tonight and- I dunno- forever?”

Steve bites his lip to hold back the huge smile, “I’m free tonight and forever when it comes to you.”

“Then it’s a date.” Bucky nods.

“Then it’s a date,” Steve agrees.

- _Fin_

**Author's Note:**

> Completely changed blogs so if you'd like to keep up with my stuff: [Tumblr/Rebloggable Post](http://secayo.tumblr.com/post/155816932445/something-tragic-something-magic-by-earthseraph)
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> Let me know if you'd like to see more of this universe!
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> * * *
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> HYDRA kidnapped Bucky and forced him to stay in his Familiar form. They used him and other Familiars as weapons, much like what happens in The Winter Soldier/Civil War with the soldiers. Nothing in great detail is mentioned.


End file.
